


you wear me out

by screwsfallout



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Eddie has anxiety, F/M, Found Family, Hurt Bill, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Meet-Cute, Panic Attacks, Slow Burn, Sonia Kaspbrak's A+ Parenting, but he’s gunna be fine, literally just them living their lives in NYC, no beta im so sorry, richie has adhd
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-02-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:21:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22470058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/screwsfallout/pseuds/screwsfallout
Summary: Richie sees a stranger have a panic attack on the subway. Eddie is panicking on the subway. It's a meet-cute! And then they keep meeting---“You’re like 5’2”, so cute, so tiny, so about to pass out, please sit down, I’m actually begging you.”“I’m 5’9” you fucker,” Eddie says, but he lets the guy push him into an empty seat.
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Beverly Marsh & Richie Tozier, Bill Denbrough & Eddie Kaspbrak, Bill Denbrough/Stanley Uris, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Mike Hanlon & Ben Hanscom & Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier & Stanley Uris
Comments: 22
Kudos: 258





	1. Chapter 1

Eddie presses the tip of his tongue against his teeth and counts - _1 2 3 in, 1 2 3 4 hold, 1 2 3 4 5 out_. And repeat. And repeat. And repeat. And -

“Are you okay, man?” 

Eddie jolts his head up. _Is he okay?_ No, dickwad, obviously not. He wants to snort but he doesn’t have the breath. 

Oh sure. He’s fiiiiiine. Just - losing his fucking mind on the subway but he's fine. Panicking without his inhaler or his Xanax but he’s fine! Fine fine fine fucking fine!!! 

_1 2 3 in._ Everything will be okay. _1 2 3 4 hold_ \- 

“Hey,” the guy, the one who spoke before, moves closer. “Are you, uh. You look like you might pass out? Nah my bad it’s not a question you def look like you’re about to fall over.” 

Eddie tries to focus. Bright eyes and brown curls and - _breathe Eddie, you know how to breathe, it's easy, in and out and in and out an_ d -

“Maybe you should sit down?” The guy says, and Eddie doesn’t react. “Dude? You need to sit down, I have noodle arms, I won’t be able to catch you no matter how tiny you are.” 

“I should ...what? Tiny? I’m not...fucking...tiny” Eddie breaks through the panic for a moment and realizes he's hunched over and panting, with one arm fully looped around the subway pole. 

“You’re like 5’2”, so cute, so tiny, so about to pass out, please sit down, I’m actually begging you.” 

“I’m 5’6” you fucker,” Eddie says, but he lets the guy push him into an empty seat. 

He can't stop his breath from stuttering. Eddie rips off his scarf, and his fingers scrape against his neck. Fuck, it's hot. And loud. And there are so many germs. His whole fucking body is covered in subway germs.

The R train screeches through the tunnel, metal on metal, a high, shrill noise that cuts the air. 

Eddie flinches and a few people stare, which honestly, fuck them this is New York, this isn’t even the weirdest thing they’ve seen this morning. But he's never, fuck, he's never had this happen underground before.

“Hey are you..having a panic attack?” The guys looms over him. 

Eddie nods tightly. Yes, he thinks, I'm having a panic attack. He’s having a panic attack while Bill is laying in the hospital. He should be there to make sure Billy’s okay but instead he's stuck on the subway, left trying to recycle stale air when he can barely unclench his teeth. 

“Okay, that's okay.” The guys says. “Do you know where you are?”

“Yes,” Eddie grits out. 

He doesn't want attention, he wants fresh air, and a cell signal. Fuck; what if someone tries to call him and they can't get through. It'll go straight to voicemail. What if there were complications and now Billy is - is - no, he can't go there.

“Cool, that's cool,” the guy sits next to Eddie.

_Cool_. Jesus Christ. Who is this fucking guy? 

Eddie takes a shuddering breath in and tries to hold it. Instead, he's left with small gasps that scrape against the back of his throat. 

“Can I touch you?” 

Eddie tenses - he doesn't like being touched. But touch does help ground him, and some small scrap of logic outweighs pride. Eddie nods. 

“I'm gunna take your hand, that cool?” Eddie doesn't respond but the guy must see some affirmation because he takes Eddie’ arm and guides a hand to his chest. “Cool, that's great, didn’t think I’d get to hold hands with a cutie today, can ya breathe with me, I’ll go slow?”

The guy takes a deep exaggerated breath in, and then exhales slowly. Eddie tries to match. They sit together and the train inches along. Some people are still staring but they get bored after a while though Eddie’s sure they must be relieved not to stop for a sick passenger.

A few stops go by and they breathe together. Eddie’s shivering but he can finally breathe well enough to think straight, and worse, to feel the low ache of shame taking up space against his ribs. 

“I'm okay now,” Eddie says, voice steadier than before. 

“You're shaking,” the guys says, but releases Eddie’ hand. 

“Adrenaline.” 

“Yeah I know how that one goes. Except I usually just throw up. Though not on the subway yet thankfully. Not sure how I’ve managed to avoid that.”

The train doors open, and a few people step in. 

“Thank you,” Eddie says, and finally makes eye contact with the guy. He’s already breathless but god dammit why did it have to be someone hot. Fuuuck him. And he cursed at him!! Why is he like this!! Should he say something? 

“Sorry I cursed at you.” Eddie adds at the last minute. 

“Hey, you were speaking my language.” The guy glances at him, sidelong. “But are you, uh...okay?” 

“Yes,” Eddie says, shoving his hands in his pockets. “they’ll stop shaking soon.”

“I kind of meant - did something happen? Not to be nosy, I mean you don’t have to talk about it or whatever, but man that was one wild freak-out.”

“It wasn’t a freak-out, it was a panic attack,” Eddie says. He doesn't know how to answer. What Eddie can't do, or at least, what Eddie can't do _well_ , is talk about his feelings. He’d rather choke on anxiety than share it. On the best days, he can pack anxieties into a backpack, shoving guilt and grief deep inside. On the worst days, the weight of it all slumps his shoulders so much that his back feels like it might break. 

“My best friend is in the hospital.” Eddie says, finally. 

“Shit, I'm sorry.”

Eddie nods once and searches the guy’s face. There's no pity there. His forehead is scrunched up and his lips pursed, he looks concerned - maybe a little confused. Eddie’ shoulders drop and he’s grateful not to pick a fight. He hates pity. 

“Yeah a taxi side-swiped his bike. He hit his head. They're not sure...” 

“Fuck. Fuck, man I'm sorry. Really.” 

“Thanks,” Eddie says. He means it. 

They ride in silence for a little longer. The stranger fidgets - jiggles his leg, drums his fingers. Eddie gives him a pointed look. 

“I’m not good at sitting still,” the guy says. “Anyway, we passed my stop, but I didn’t want to just leave you.” 

“I want to tell you to fuck off, but it’s also the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me so thanks I guess,” Eddie says, and gives the most genuine smile he can muster. 

“Wow, a truly effusive thank you, one I will treasure forever.”

“You missed your stop dipshit, I was fine.” 

“Yeah, yup, very fine.”

Eddie flips him off, and then laughs. Feels like he’s known this stranger forever. Super weird. 

The train shudders to a stop. Their knees knock and the guy stands up. 

“Bye,” he says, with a wry look. “Try not to choke to death when I’m gone. And just so you know, that was an easy opening for an unsavory joke, but I thought I should be respectful since this is only our first date.”

“Go eat a bag of dicks,” Eddie says, and means thank you. 

The guy gets off, and when the door closes Eddie can still hear him cackling. 

Eddie takes a breath. And another, and another, and looks through a window stained with fingerprints to follow the head of dark, curly hair until he gets swallowed into the crowd.

\---

Bill didn’t wake up when Eddie visited, or at all that day. He stayed as long as he could during visiting hours. Mike and Ben came too, and they had their own little vigil. They’d all been best friends since 2nd grade. More than best friends, actually. They were basically the only family Eddie had. 

Mike and Ben end up sleeping over that night. None of them really want to be alone and Eddie has the smallest apartment but the biggest bed. 

Eddie doesn’t tell them about what happened on the subway until they get home. He doesn’t want to take away from Bill. And anyway, it wasn’t really that important. It honest to god feels like a dream at that point. But he did sneak a puff of his inhaler and that raised Mike’s eyebrows. In the end it was better to just tell them, otherwise they would spend all night sniping at each other before Ben’s puppy dog eyes finally forced it out of Eddie anyway. 

“This guy sounds like your guardian angel,” Ben says, after he's gotten past the initial distress of Eddie alone on public transportation, gasping for air. 

“Oh please,” Eddie says, rolling over so he's on his stomach. “I'm just lucky someone didn't report me to the conductor.” 

“Was it that bad?”

Eddie shrugs. “No, it was okay, I guess. It could have been worse, maybe. If he wasn't there.” 

Mike squeezes Eddie’ shoulder and then props himself up on his elbows. 

“Well. What was he like? Tell us everything.”

“He was our age, I think. Dark curly hair.” Eddie sees a blurry flash of green eyes and long dark eyelashes. “He was a fucking giant and then had the audacity to call me tiny.”

“Tiny!” Mike exclaims. “Oh my god.” 

“And cute, he called me cute as I was casually hyperventilating.”

“He called you cute!” Ben says, with a tone of voice he usually saved for coffeeshop crush and New Kids on the Block. 

  
Eddie scowled. “Don’t say it like that.” 

“But I agree! You are cute! The cutest!” Ben says. And it’s earnest, which makes Eddie go red because Ben is pretty much the only one who can get away with this kind of bullshit without getting decked. 

“Yeah, Eddie, so cute.” Mike says, and Eddie elbows him in the stomach.

“Ow.” Mike says.

“What else?” Ben continues. 

“I don't know.” Eddie says. It’s hard to focus. He can't stop thinking about Billy lying in a hospital room alone. “I wasn’t trying to pick up a hot guy while my best friend was getting brain surgery.” 

Eddie’s voice cut clean. It made Mike sigh. 

“I'm just trying to distract you. I'm trying to distract _me_. Can you help out just a little??” Ben says. 

“I know, sorry, I’m sorry” Eddie bites his lip. “He seemed familiar. Had one a stupid t-shirt.” 

“Oh my god” Mike rolls his eyes, “you can rant for hours about the sunk cost fallacy, but you can't put two words together about this?”

“I was a little preoccupied,” Eddie shoots back, but his forehead wrinkles up as he tries to think. “He was funny. Quick. He, uh, had a nice voice.” 

Ben sits up at that. “Eddie!” He says, in his most scandalized voice. “You thought he was hot!”

“I already said he was hot, Ben, aren’t you listening to me.” 

“Yeah but like. You thought he was hot hot.”

“What are you even talking about.”

“You know exactly what I'm talking about.” 

“No, I don't” Eddie says (only a little petulantly). 

Ben doesn't answer but Eddie just knows he has some sort of smug expression on. He doesn’t look over to confirm. Mike just hums. 

“Like okay, if I met him at a party or whatever, yeah, I might think he was my type -”

“I knew it!”

“But that was NOT exactly on my mind while I was embarrassing myself on the subway.”

Mike laughs loudly. 

“That's so romantic.” Ben says.

“It really wasn't.” 

“This is so adorable it might be the one thing to wake Bill up. He’ll want to novelize your meet cute.”

“Oh my god, you’re right.” Eddie says, laughing. 

“We can test it on him tomorrow. But first. Sleep. I’m so tired.” Mike says.  
  
“So tired,” Ben echoes. 

It takes Eddie a while to fall asleep, even safely sandwiched between his friends. When he’s staring at the ceiling, he’s thinking about Bill. 

When he finally closes his eyes, all he sees is a mop of dark curly hair and a goofy smile. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My friends, I do not have a beta. I am literally wasting away at a corporate job, casually writing Reddie fanfic on the sly while trying not to fall deeper into our capitalist hell-hole. Enjoy at your own risk and godbless

Richie crashes into his apartment and slams the door. He’s always buzzing, but right now his energy is off the charts. He needs an audience.

“I met a beautiful boy. A baby Greek god. I held his hand and now I’m in love.” 

“Hello,” Bev whips around from her sewing machine with wide eyes. “Welcome home, describe him immediately” 

“Bev, he was so cute and so tiny and so full of rage.”

“I already love him, go on.”

“He was freaking out on the subway and I actually, for real, thought he might die.”

“Plot twist but okay.”

“I get on the R train, right? It’s normal, whatever. And I look up from candy crush to see this boy, an actual angel, panicking so badly he’s almost on all fours. I swear to god Bev this kid was bent over.” 

Bev gasps. 

“He was having a legit fucking panic attack. Could not breathe, was about to make a huge scene, kind of panic attack.”

“Honey, is he okay?!”

“I think so, now!!! I helped him breathe like you taught me. And does this kid have a mouth, hoooollyyy shit. He doesn’t know me at all, right? I mean, I’m just some well to do stranger and this guy is cursing me out the whole time. But in a sexy way.”

Richie stops to take a breath. “Is this what it’s like to find your soulmate? He said the word fuck and I think I had a chubb.”

“I'm so overwhelmed right now I barely know where to start.” Bev says. 

“We held hands so we’re basically married now. He worships at the altar of big dick Tozier. Wait. Bev. What am I saying? What am I _saying_??? Am I regressing?”

“Do I need to call Stan?” Bev asks, but she’s laughing. She stands and grabs his shoulders, smoothing his shirt sleeves. Richie bounces under her hand.

“Yes!! What are you not understanding!!! I met the love of my life today, only to have him cruelly ripped from my arms by the NY public transportation system!!! I need moral support!”

“Okay I’m calling Stan, we need beer and pizza and a full debrief of your new husband.”

“You get me,” Richie says, his chest aching with love for his friends. He’s so lucky. He’s so _lucky_. “You just get me.”

* * *

A few days later and not much has changed. Bill is still in a coma. Mike is still working too hard. Ben is still a goddamn genius. And Eddie. Well Eddie’s still thinking about the boy on the subway.

But right now, Eddie is sleeping.

“Eddie,” Mike says, and pokes Eddie on the cheek for good measure. Eddie groans and rolls over. He’s not a morning person. People are usually surprised to find this out, but he’s always been a cantankerous brat at any hour before 10am. 

“Eddieeee” Mike pokes him again. “Get up. I want breakfast.”

“Then go get breakfast,” Eddie mumbles into his pillow.

“Ben and I want waffles. We gotta go outside.”

Eddie groans - stretching out syllables like taffy. “No, order in.”

“Are you kidding me? Order in waffles? I mean, I’m desperate but I’m not a monster.”

“Then go. Get. Waffles. Without me.”

“Eddie! C’mon. Food! Let's go, up and at ‘em, you’re coming.” 

  
Eddie doesn’t respond.

“You know I’m just going to keep poking you.”

Eddie props himself up on one elbow and stares blankly at the wall, not even turning to look at Mike. 

“What time is it?”

“9. It’s late!”

“I'm going back to sleep” Eddie face plants back onto the bed. 

“Please?” Mike asks plainly. It’s a dirty trick. Eddie can never ignore Mike when he’s being sincere.

“Oh my god, _fine_. Give me 5 minutes.” Eddie sits up and contemplates. He’s gotta brush his teeth, rinse off in the shower, put on sunscreen and moisturizer and – hmmm. “Actually, jk, give me 15 to 20 minutes.”

Mike snorts. the “obviously” is implied. This isn’t his first rodeo. 

“We’re getting waffles” Mike yells, so deep and loud it hurts Eddie's ears.

“Yayyy” Ben calls from the other room. “Waffles!”

Eddie jumps in the shower with a scowl. God he hates his friends, Eddie thinks. They are the worst. The absolute goddamn worst.

(The best, he thinks too, the absolute goddamn best.) 

* * *

Stan, Bev and Richie pay the check at the front. Well, Stan pays the check. Richie and Bev stand awkwardly to the side, conveying their love for Stan through puppy dog eyes and nursing their very full stomachs. It’s not the first bacon eating contest, and it won’t be the last, but damn that shit hurts.

Richie is shifting back and forth. He’s always moving. Even the stimulants don’t really rein in his ADHD. Richie has gotten very good at coping though. And he notices everything. Like, max roll on Perception kind of shit.

And Richie notices as soon as Eddie walks into the restaurant.

It is a moment of true serendipity, in the way that only Richie Tozier can have true serendipity. Like, time-stopping, fairytale, can’t be real serendipity. Richie is both breathless and too full of air. _Whaaaat is happening._

“No way,” Richie says, softly. And then louder. “No fucking way.” 

“What now?” Stan asks. 

“He’s here.”

“Who?” 

“The angry war god from the subway!! Anxiety hottie with a body. Panic attack snack!!” 

“Shut up. Where!!!” Bev whips her head around. “He’s here??!” 

“He’s, oh my god, I actually am going to get a nosebleed, look at this asshole, he’s the one in the shorts.” Richie rubs his eyes. 

“Well shit.” Bev says. 

“You would,” Stan says, but he can’t help but smile. Richie’s enthusiasm is always infectious. 

At this point, it’s clear Eddie sees them too, because he stops short, and almost gets plowed down by the two guys behind him. 

“Okay, I think he sees me,” Richie says, fixing (if you can call it fixing) his messy mop of curls. “Do I look okay? Just kidding don’t tell me, I’m going to assume I am 10/10 per usual.” 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Eddie yells, from across the diner. People crane their necks as he stomps over. Richie smiles. This kid is always making a scene.

“It’s you!” Eddie yelps. 

“Yeah, yup. Weird huh?”

“Are you stalking me?”

“I was here first! Are you stalking _me_?” 

“As if I’d want to stalk your scrawny beanpole ass.” 

“I’m just happy you’re looking at my ass.” 

“Fuck you.” Eddie says. And although he knows he is loud and often gesticulates in a way that makes people stare, he still forgets sometimes that there are other people around. And now he is hit with the sudden and terrible realization that everyone is looking. At him, specifically. Ben and Mike are watching from a distance, having found a table and refusing to give it up. 

Richie’s friends, on the other hand, are intimately close, and staring at Eddie like he was some sort of new strain of virus on a petri dish. Curious and wary. Also - and maybe less consistent with the simile - very, very amused. 

“Hey, meet my friends!” Richie says, breaking the tension. “This is Bev and Stanley.” 

“Nice to meet you,” Eddie says, smiling sweet as pie to Stan and Bev. Then he looks at Richie. “Even though I still have no idea what the fuck _your_ name is.”

“Oh, wow, yeah that is way more important. These guys don’t matter, all eyes on me. I’m Richie.” He holds a hand out. “Now we have officially met!” 

“I’m not going to shake your hand, I have real concerns about the type of hygiene you practice. How long do you count when you wash your hands?” 

“Bold of you to assume I wash my hands at all.”  
  
Eddie shivers. “That’s disgusting, you’re disgusting. Ew. EW. You’re kidding right? Tell me you’re kidding.”

Richie lowers his hand, still beaming. “You are so weird and I want to put you in my pocket forever. Also you still didn’t tell me your name.” 

“It’s Eddie,” he says. 

“Eddie!” Richie says back, with a clear exclamation point. “Eds.”

Eddie wrinkles his nose. “No, no nicknames, Eddie is already a nickname.” 

Richie wants to spend hours listening to Eddie insult him. Dirty talk had never really done it for Richie, but then, bam, this kid comes around and suddenly being called an asshole is turning him on. Well, he can roll with it. In this family, there is no kink shaming.

“You’re a spitfire.” Richie says.

“Oh, fuck off.”

“What a coincidence, that’s what I helped your Mom do last night.” 

Before Eddie can answer, Stan grabs Richie’s arm. 

“We’re leaving without you,” Stan says. “This is last call, if you can stop flirting with your...” Stan huffs, amused, because who even is this “with your Eddie.” 

“My Eddie, I like the sound of that.” Richie rolls Eddie’s name around in his mouth all slow. Then he realizes what Stan is saying. “Fuck, wait, you can’t leave me, here, I’ll be locked out of the apartment, Bev has to leave for work.”

“Yeah, I know.” Stan says. “Otherwise I really _would_ have left you.”

Richie looks at Eddie. “Alas, it is my time to depart.”

“I gathered.” Eddie’s tone could whither leaves, but Richie feels like he’s bloomed. 

“Bye Eds,” Richie yells behind his shoulder, running to meet Stan and Bev. “See ya around.”

It’s a strange moment. Richie leaves and it’s like a pressure valve releases. Smells and sounds start streaming in. He’s back in the diner, and though he’d never left, never even moved, he feels out of breath. 

The symphony of clinking coffee cups, low chatter, and hissing bacon hits him all at once. It’s overwhelming, and he doesn’t want to be standing anymore. The eyes on him feel itchy. _What the fuck_ , he thinks, and sits down to join Ben and Mike. 

“Wow,” Mike says, without looking up from the menu. His eyebrows are raised as high as they can possibly go. “When’s the wedding?” 

“No, no.” Eddie says. “Don’t start.”

“I knew it!” Ben pumps his fist in the air. He’s grinning like a sitcom character in a title sequence. Mouth open wide, cheeks tight, all teeth. 

“Oh please,” Eddie says.

“You do like him! You think he’s hot! And funny! You think he is all that and a bag of chips.” Ben pauses to consider his words. “Huh. Now chips sound good…” 

Eddie rolls his eyes. 

“Yeah I mean, you passed flirting and went full on foreplay, I was worried you were about to suck face in the middle of the diner.” Mike says. 

“What!!! I wasn’t flirting.” 

“LOL,” Ben says. “ _Eddie_.”

“I called him a beanpole.” Eddie protests. 

“You’re just proving my point, man. I think you know well and good that insults are, like, an aphrodisiac for you.”

Eddie flushes. Mike’s got him there. He flirted mean and he liked mean back. Nettles though, not barbed wire. He liked the parry of it. Richie certainly knew how to parry. 

“Well, I’ll probably never see him again, who cares anyway.” Eddie opens his menu and holds it in front of his face. Best to move right along. “Do you think they have gluten free bread?” 

* * *

“Wow,” Stan says, as the three of them walk back to the apartment. 

“I mean,” Bev raises her eyebrows. “I mean really.”

“Right! I told you!” Richie gesticulates sharply, to emphasize. Like: _see! See what I told you!_

“He’s so feisty,” Bev says.

“Everytime he curses at me, an angel gets its wings.”

“He’s something.” Stan says. “He looked ready to tackle you to the floor.”

“Yeah, right? But with lust. A lust tackle.”

“That kid was about to rip your clothes off with his teeth.” Bev says. 

“I’ve never wanted anything more.” 

Richie was an effusive guy, but this particular brand of enthusiasm was unusual for him. It had been a long road out of the closet, and Richie had just recently gotten comfortable talking about men. But usually he was recapping a drunken Grindr hook-up or a hot guy waiting in line at Blue Bottle. This - this was out of the ordinary. 

“Oh no.” Richie says, stopping dead in his tracks. “I didn’t get his _number_. I didn’t get his anything!”

“You got his name,” Stan says. 

“We can go back,” Bev says. 

“Or we can not go back,” Stan counters, “and do some internet sleuthing from the comfort of your couch.” 

“Oh that’ll work great. Let me just type in ‘ _short-tempered cutie named Eddie, lives in NYC, doesn’t like hand shakes’_ into Google.” 

“Maybe if you run into him a third time, you’ll know it’s meant to be.”

“That's romantic of you, Bev,” Richie says. 

“I mean, I don’t believe in fate but que sera sera.” 

“The chance is statistically very low,” Stan says. 

“Whose side are you _on_.” Richie frowns.

“Yours,” Stan bumps his shoulder. “Always, idiot.”

“Okay,” Richie says. “Third times the charm. That’d be so bizarre, though, can you imagine? If I just randomly find him again? God he’s cute.” 

“He’s pretty cute,” Bev says. 

They walk home, and Richie is buoyant. Like, he logically knows he’ll probably never see Eddie again, but his whole heart tells him to wait it out. Richie doesn’t believe in religion, but if he did, he would get on his knees and pray, right in the middle of 3rd Avenue. 

* * *

Eddie heads to the hospital immediately after brunch. They’re trading shifts (Mike’s got the afternoon, Ben is going to bring Georgie by in the evening). 

Eddie is glad to start the day with Bill - in fact, his anxiety demands it. Eddie’s shoulders are near his ears, and he knows his teeth won’t unclench until he sees Bill in person again. Bill hasn’t woken up yet, but Eddie still needs to _see_ him. Eddie needs those small proofs of life. Bill’s chest moving up and down. Bill’s hand, clammy and still warm. 

Most people find the beep of a heart monitor triggering, but to Eddie, it’s the best sound in the world. Every beep reassures him: Bill’s here, Bill’s okay, Bill’s alive. 

When Eddie was young, about 7, he was desperately lonely. It was him and his Mom against the world. Well, him and his Mom and his inhaler and his medicine against the world. But that’s a longer story. 

Bill was his first real friend. Bill was kind to Eddie when everyone else ignored him. And they fit together. They made sense. Bill had a stutter, and Eddie was...Eddie - together they could protect each other. They adopted Ben and Mike over the years. And, of course, there was always Georgie. But Bill was special. He was the first one to make things bearable. He was Eddie’s very best friend. As close to a brother as he would ever get. 

“Hey Billy,” Eddie says. The hospital chair squeaks as he sits. “You’re really sleeping in today. I’m jealous, the boys made me get up at 9am for breakfast. It was terrible.”

Bill is quiet and still. Eddie squeezes Bill’s hand. 

“I, uh, met a boy? Kind of? Mike and Ben have been relentless. They said you would get the biggest kick out of it. And yeah, you totally would.” Eddie pauses. 

“He’s still a stranger but it feels like I know him. We met on the subway, because I was fucking panicking. Because of you, by the way. It’s your fault. He helped me breathe. I let him hold my hand? I don’t even know, man. And then I ran into him again! At brunch! Mike whined at me until we got waffles this morning. And he was there. Train boy. Like a literal Wookie - oh my god he is so tall and his hair is a fucking disaster. But he’s...uh, yeah, he’s really...he keeps making me blush. I’m being a huge dick so who even knows what he thinks. I mean, I don’t even know if I’ll ever see him again. His name is Richie.”

Eddie shares the silence with Bill for a long time. 

“Bill, you have to wake up. It’s impossible to live in our apartment without you, I have no one to whine at. And I need you to kill the spiders for me, you know I can’t do it by myself.” Eddie’s voice is viscous; full of hope but also full of something else, something like despair. 

“Bill, please. I need to hear your voice. Mike and Ben need you. Georgie needs you. Georgie really needs you. Please, please wake up.”

Eddie takes a few deep breaths. His eyes are wet. 

It’s funny, Bill is one of the only people that Eddie could ever stand being quiet with. Normally silence made his skin crawl, but with Bill it was easy. Comfortable. Now it’s the opposite: cold and oppressive and waiting waiting waiting.

“Love you, Billy.” Eddie says. No more quiet, no right now. Eddie opens The Outsiders and reads.

“When I stepped out into the bright sunlight from the darkness of the movie house, I had only two things on my mind: Paul Newman and a ride home.” 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Worlds collide and shit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ya'll I know this reads like a series of random occurrences but I can't be fussed to make things fluid and...yanno...actually good. There is little to no continuity and I am aware of that. Sorry, ilysm, I'm a lazy piece of shit!!

_Missed call from Ben Hanscom (3)_

_Missed call from Georgie Boy_

_Missed call from Mikey Mike Hanlon (2)_

“Fuck me,” Eddie says, looking down at his phone. There’s 24 text notifications. He’s scared to open them. His heart is racing, _badum bdaum bdaum bdaum_. He hates that he can hear his own heartbeat. It feels like an evolutionary failure. 

And the missed calls. The texts. It must be about Bill. It has to be. 

Eddie’s hands shake. The _one_ time he takes a nap during the day. The one time! That’s it, he thinks, I’m never sleeping again. 

Eddie’s duvet is tangled around his legs. He must have been moving a lot. Some of his pillows have been pushed to the ground and worst of all, he feels damp and overheated under the covers. What a mess. He’s definitely going to have to change the sheets. He fucking hates changing the sheets. His fitted sheet never stays on the left mattress corner. It's like some sort of incredibly thought out curse meant to mildly bug him for the rest of his life. 

_Incoming call from Mikey Mike Hanlon_

Eddie answers the phone immediately, but doesn’t say anything. His lips are stuck together like taffy. 

“Uh, Eddie?”

“Yeah. Sorry yeah.” It takes a moment for Eddie to fully snap back into reality but once he does, words start pouring out of him at hyperspeed. “I just woke up, I haven’t even checked my phone yet but I saw all the missed calls and texts, is it Bill? Is he okay? Did something happen? I can’t believe I fell asleep in the middle of the day, this is why I try to keep such a stern sleeping schedule Mike, otherwise everything gets out of whack. Fuck. What’s going on??”

“Take a breath please,” Mike says, stern but gentle. 

“I’m breathing!” Eddie snaps. 

“Breathe _better_ ,” Mike says. 

“Mike, please, just - what’s going on?”

“It’s alright, don’t freak out, it’s good news, okay?”

“He woke up?”

“He woke up!”

Relief floods through Eddie’s body like morphine. He laughs. “Fuck, okay. I’m going to kill him. I’m so happy. Okay, okay. I’ll be right there.” 

Eddie scrambles out of bed and trips over one of his discarded pillows. He glares at the mint green offending puff as if it could be scolded back onto the bed. 

“No rush.” Mike says, hearing a thump and then little else. 

“All rush,” Eddie says. “Tell Bill I said: fuck you.”   
  


  
“I will,” Mike said, “though he’s already gotten a guilt trip from Georgie, not sure how much else he can handle.” 

“Oh well, he shouldn’t have crashed his bike into a goddamn car then.” 

* * *

It’s been a week since Bill was released from the hospital and things have mostly gone back to normal. Only, Bill is starting to get itchy because he is never, _ever_ alone. 

Bill’s grateful for his friends and their constant support. He really is. They are his brothers, they mean the world to him. He would take a bullet for any of them without a second thought. But they hover. Eddie hovers. Eddie…really hovers. And he frets. A lot. About most things. With love, of course. But it’s starting to wear on Bill's nerves. Now for example...

“A party? Georgie no, that sounds stressful, he should be resting, that’s a terrible idea.”

“ED-die, c’mon. It’ll make everyone feel better to see him up and about! And it’ll get Bill out of the house! Right Billy?”

“Can’t argue with that,” Bill says, grinning from the couch. “I think it’s been long enough. All I’ve done is rest. I’m clear to do a little socializing!”

“But-” Eddie starts. “But you could relapse or make your head worse. It's really not the responsible thing. What if you drink too much and the alcohol causes adverse reactions with your meds, I doubt you're supposed to be drinking at all actually. Or maybe you…” Eddie goes to speak again and then goes white all over. _Oh god_ , Eddie thinks, _Oh god oh god oh god_ . He’s turning into her, isn’t he? Smothering and overbearing and making up reasons for Bill to stay home, to stay injured and resting in this nice, controllable bubble. _Holy fuck, holy shit, oh god._

For Eddie, every kind of panic has a flavor. This is the salt and pepper kind, the fuzzy cable TV at 3 in the morning kind. It obfuscates. 

He’s standing next to the coffee table looking at Bill one moment and then he’s kneeling on the floor. Eddie’s skin is buzzing and he can’t hear anything but his own thoughts, which are open safety pins, pricking all over. 

_Oh god, what the fuck, what the actual fuck am I doing, fuck fuck shit fuck._

Eddie’s panic is tinged with shame. He’s making this all about him, and it’s not fair, it’s not, but still all he can think is _oh god, I knew I’d become her one day, I knew it._

Thankfully he’s safe and home and in a place that is private. Thankfully Eddie is surrounded by people who know him, really know him, people who don’t have to ask what is happening, people who know immediately how to help.

Georgie kneels next to Eddie. He opens Eddie’s left hand, putting an ice cube down, and guiding Eddie to clench his fist again. 

Eddie doesn’t feel anything for a long time but then, there it is, cold, straight from nothing to stinging. He squeezes the ice and water drips through his fingers onto his pants and the rug.

Bill is on Eddie’s other side taking big, deep breaths. Eddie tries to copy. “That’s g-good, just like that.” Bill says, and keeps breathing with him. 

“I..” Eddie says. “I…” 

“I know,” Bill says. “You're not. You aren’t, Eddie I promise, okay?” 

There is a whole conversation that goes unsaid. 

That’s the thing about best friends. About family. They always seem to know what is happening underneath. What is silent, or festering, or hidden. And Eddie has never been good at hiding his feelings anyway. He’s always been frightened of his mom. To be near her. To leave her. To become her.

“But. No, but I…” Eddie breathes and breathes and breathes. “I’m sorry Bill. I didn’t mean to.”

“You didn’t do anything.”

“I’m sorry,” Eddie says again and again. “I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be dumb.” Georgie says with the confidence only a teenager can have.

Eddie is making this about him. Bill is hurt and Georgie is hurting and Eddie is making it all about himself. But still he can hear his mother’s voice creeping through his ear, _don’t you think you should stay home Eddie bear, don’t forget to take your pills, don’t push yourself too hard, don’t don’t don’t Eddie bear._

“Plus!” Georgie says, tapping Eddie’s wrist, taking him back to the present. “Plus if you come to the party you can meet the guy Billy has a cruuuush on.”

Eddie breathes and laughs and breathes easier. “What? Fuck off.” 

“No, dude, he’s totally in love.” Georgie says. “With that guy Stan. The one who works next to him.”

Eddie looks at Bill. “William Denbrough, you asshole, you have a secret crush?”

“Shut up,” Bill says, but he is bright, beet, fire truck red. 

“You have a secret crush! You fucker!” 

“It’s - it’s not a crush, it’s just Stan. You know Stan, I talk about him all the time! Work Stan, bird watcher Stan.”

“That Stan, huh?”

“Yes, _that_ Stan, the only Stan I’ve literally ever met or spoken about.”

“George, how long have you been sitting on this?” Eddie asks.

“Like a full month, it’s been torture. Bill said he wanted to tell you guys himself but at this point I think he’s ready to take it to the grave, so it’s my brotherly duty to speed shit along.” 

“Don’t say shit,” Eddie and Bill say, together.

“Both of you are such hypocrites,” Georgie says. “Now get up and move back to the couch, I want to play Halo.”

* * *

  
  


It’s Sunday morning, it’s finally sunny out, and everything feels safe and warm. Stan’s at the kitchen table with a steaming mug of Earl Grey. Richie is sprawled on the couch, legs dangling off the arm rest. The neighbor’s dog runs back and forth - Richie knows that because he can hear the _tink tink tink_ of too long nails on a hardwood floor. It used to annoy the hell out of him but now it’s oddly comforting. 

“We’re having a party next weekend.” Stan says without looking up, completely focused on the NYT crossword. Richie is so shocked that he almost falls off the couch, and he has to catch himself on the coffee table, gangly limbs akimbo. It makes a racket but Stan doesn’t turn around. 

“I’m sorry, am I hallucinating?” Richie asks. 

“Don’t do a whole bit, I’m begging you.”

Richie continues, exaggerating his consonants. “Is this a dream? Am I delirious?”

Stan sighs, and pens down 8 across: Audra McDonald. Stan does the crossword in pen (you know, like a monster) and Richie will literally never understand that type of commitment. Stan is very good at the crossword and very good at multitasking, and most of all, Stan is very good at being right. In this case though...

“Staniel. You want to throw a party?”

“I _am_ going to throw a party, yes.”

“I honest to god can’t make a joke right now, because I am legitimately confused and alarmed. Blink twice if you’re possessed by a body snatcher.”

“That’s a terrible way to verify my identity, you should know better, you have a bookcase full of comics.”

“Dude, what the fuck is goin’ on?”

Stan puts his pen down and looks at Richie, gaze as steady and piercing as always. “I already told you.”

“Uh no you did not. C’mon man, you know what I mean.” 

“If you must know, a friend just woke up from a coma and I promised his brother I’d host a party.” When Richie doesn't answer right away, Stan feels like he has to clarify. “To celebrate.” 

Richie still doesn’t answer and his mouth hangs halfway open like a cartoon character. 

“To celebrate him waking up from a coma.” Stan says. “Richie if this is all it takes to shut you up, I would have thrown a party a long time ago.” 

“I’m sorry,” Richie stands and turns around in a slow, looping circle, partly for dramatic effect but partly because his brain is legitimately still processing. He walks to the far wall by the TV and then back to the couch. He puts his hands up. 

“What! The! Hell!”

Stan shrugs. 

“Okay. What? Stan. Stanley. What the - I don’t even know where to start! Your quote unquote _friend_? I am your friend, Bev is your friend, you don’t have any other friends!”

“That’s rude,” Stan says.

“Who is this stranger that was in a coma? And by the way, what? A real life coma? And why have you never mentioned that you know someone who was, and again what the fuck, in a literal coma?! It seems like something you would bring up. Yanno, anytime. Because it’s kind of a big deal.” 

“I share a we-work space with him, Richie, Bill’s not some big secret.” Stan goes back to his crossword, but it’s really an excuse not to look at Richie anymore. Because if Stan is being honest with himself, there is obviously a reason he kept Bill separate from his friends. But Stan doesn’t want to be honest with himself right now. So. Crossword. 

“He’s the writer, isn’t he? The one who always types too loud? That Bill?! You’re talking about _that_ guy from the we-work?”

“Yeah, that’s the one.”

“You hate that guy! You complain about him literally all the time.”

“I complain about _you_ all the time.”

“Stanley Yelnats. Has Bev met this guy?”

“No, not that I know of.”

“And! God, I have so many follow up questions.” Richie sits across from Stan and thrums his fingers on the table. 

“Why slash how is mystery Bill in a coma? When did that even happen? I swear, you were just whining about his writing cadence like a second ago, were you complaining about his typing while he was unconscious?”

Stan takes a breath but Richie keeps going.

“Do you even know this guy well enough to throw him a party? Have you met _his_ friends?? How in glory’s hell do you know his brother?”

Stan opens his mouth to answer but Richie cuts him off. 

“As your best friend, roommate, and platonic life partner, I am shocked. Betrayed. Hurt. How could you hide a crush from me?”

Stan, for the first time, reacts. “Wait a second, no, there’s no crush, that is distinctly not what I said.”

“I’m reading between the lines.” Richie says. 

“There are no lines to read between.” 

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Well let me walk you through the facts.” Richie smirks and brings his hands together like he has just solved a particularly complex detective case. 

“1: You obscured the nature of your relationship with this mystery typist, a thing you have only ever done with Samantha Heller and Jesse Platt, who were, check this, past signifs. 2. You didn’t tell us your good friend we-work Bill was in a coma, which is a dramatic thing that obviously comes up in conversation, yanno, because he was _in a coma_. Not a detail to slip your mind. Which means you were upset about this turn of events.”

“Yes obviously I was upset, Richie.”

“THREE. You agreed to throw him a party, you hate parties, you hate having strangers over, and you hate cleaning up other people’s trash.”

“You’re just stating unrelated things, now.” 

“You know I’m not. How do you know his brother anyway?”

“Yeah, Georgie. He comes by after school and does his homework while Bill writes.”

“Well isn’t that adorable.”

Stan sighs a long, weary sigh. “This is why I don’t bring people around, I’m afraid you’ll annoy them to death. You are proving my point in real time.” 

Richie puts his elbows on the table, chin in his hands. He looks at Stan. Stan looks back. 

“Okay, god Richie, fine. I like him, and I was scared when he was hurt, and I want to do something nice to make him feel better, is that what you want to hear?” 

“Yeah, pretty much!” Richie taps his fingers together. “Now!! Tell me everything.”  
  


  
Stan sighs his most Stanley sigh yet. “Not a fucking chance.” 

* * *

It’s the night of the party. A Friday. It’s also the night fate decides to play a hell of a joke. 

Richie, Stan and Bev have spent the entire day scrubbing the apartment, and making hand-drawn signs of well wishes for Bill. “Mystery Bill” Bev and Richie have taken to calling him. Stan pretends not to hear them at this point. 

Bev and Richie have also spent the day taking bets on what Mystery Bill will look like. Richie has ten dollars on dimples. Bev’s convinced the guy will come in a button up. They are so focused on Bill that they don’t even think to ask who else is coming. And there is the fucking rub. 

The party is underway, and a few groups of Stan & Richie’s friends are already lounging about. Richie buzzes new guests into the building, drink in hand. There’s the stomping of a group of people walking up old steps. The apartment door opens and - cross his heart and hope to die, Richie feels his soul ascend from his body into a higher plane of existence because no, nope, this cannot be happening right now. 

Richie always thought that all spit-takes were staged but he takes one look at the people standing in his doorway and chokes, his rum and coke splashing across Beverly’s lilac shirt. 

“Oh,” Bev says, both seeing Eddie, and also feeling the splatter of Richie’s mouthwash alcohol all over her shoulder. 

“Hey, Bill!” Stan says, over the hum of the crowded room. He has a 1000 watt grin on until he sees the rest of the group. Then it clicks. Bill’s friends are...those friends. Bill’s Eddie is Richie’s Eddie. 

“Stan! Thanks for having us, i-it really means a lot.” Bill walks toward Stan and then stops, when he notices all his friends frozen at the door. “Uh, guys?”

Mike starts laughing so hard he doubles over. Ben bites his lip, hard, to keep quiet. 

“Of all the gin joints, huh?” Richie says, still in shock, his mouth working faster than his thoughts. Thank god for all those improv classes. 

Eddie stares, brows furrowed. It’s adorable, Richie thinks. Cute, cute, cuuute. 

“Finally speechless?” Richie says. “No insults for me today?”

“Do you...know each other?” Bill asks. 

“This _would_ happen at the only party I ever throw,” Stan says. 

“Oh Bill! Of course. You don’t know but,” Ben laughs and says brightly. “Remember the subway stud we told you about?”

“Subway stud?!” Richie crows, clapping his hands. “Oh, Eds, you _do_ love me.” 

“No,” Bill says. “Is it?” He looks at Eddie, who is just. Staring. “No way. How?!”

“Told ya,” Bev says, now blotting at her shirt with seltzer water. “Third time's the charm.” 

At this point, Mike is actually crying. He’s laughing so hard it’s just a silent wheeze with wet eyes, hands on his thighs.

Richie is grinning a wicked grin. A cat whose left a mouse in your bed grin. “Eds, think this means we have to get married?”

Eddie stands straighter and locks eyes with Richie, “You sasquatch shitstain, pour me a fucking shot before you ask me to marry you, jesus christ, aren’t you supposed to be the host?” 

* * *

  
  


It takes an hour, a full bottle of Tito’s, and a lot of interrupting before everyone is all caught up. 

“Wow, you fall into a coma once,” Bill says, “and look what ya miss.”

“That’s not fucking funny,” Eddie says. 

“It’s really not,” Stan says, soft enough that only Bill hears. They knock knees. 

Eddie is acutely aware of his own leg pressed against Richie’s. 

They do more shots. They’re laughing. Bev drops a glass. Bill twirls Georgie around. Shots again. Cards. Voices voices voices, in symphony. Things tilt slow then fast. Spins. 

And then nothing. 

* * *

Eddie wakes up in a disorienting sequence of pain. His head, his eyes, his stomach, even his skin. It smells weird. What time is it? 

When did he get home...or…? Is he even home? Where is he? Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. 

In a snap, Eddie realizes. He is in Richie’s bed. He is curled up against Richie’s bare chest. Richie is drooling. At this point, it’s light out, well past breakfast time. Eddie doesn’t have his phone, and there isn’t a clock on the bedside table, but he can see people moving about their day from the window. 

Eddie is starting to squirm and Richie must feel it because he blinks his eyes open. “Morning,” Richie says, voice low and raspy. “Woof, I’m hungover as shit.”

Eddie’s eyes are wide and his pupils are dilated. He freezes in Richie’s arms. Eddie can feel his muscles snap taut. Richie can too. 

“Dude, you okay? If you’re gunna puke, there’s a trashcan next the bed, please aim away from me. I’m a sympathetic vomiter, it’ll get real messy real quick.”

Eddie blinks. Richie’s breath is warm on Eddie’s shoulder. There’s a bird making a racket right outside the window, and it feels like a bad omen. Whaaat the fuck is happening. 

“What the hell happened last night,” Eddie says, unable to lift his cheek from the pillow or else he might actually puke and prove Richie right. 

  
  
“Oh fuck a duck.” Richie’s vowels tickle Eddie’s skin. “You don’t remember?”


End file.
